


I'm The Supply You Still Demand

by Theboys



Series: Dear God, It's Me, Dean [36]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Sam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Dean, Canon-Typical Violence, Demon Deals, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Omega Dean, Possessive Sam, Protective Sam, Sad Dean, Sad Sam, Top Sam, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 11:10:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4562376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam doesn’t know how to not want, how to stop clawing for everything he desires, the things he’s owed.</p><p>In which a difficult decision is made, and a storm is brewing.</p><p>Sam POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm The Supply You Still Demand

**Author's Note:**

> I buttered you up with the fluff from last chapter.

Leaving Dean has never been a viable option.

He tangles his fingers together, contemplates breaking one, knows the bones would set and heal within the hour, but he’s not desperate enough for that yet.

He wants the rush, out of body experience of pain, wound so tight he just can’t _think,_ bones quivering in platitude over their betrayal.

but he’s got decisions to make.

He glances over at his brother, freckled skin barely visible in the sliver of moonlight peeking through open curtains. His fists are cumbersome at his sides, low-banked trembling.

It’ll take Bobby ten hours to drive here from Minnesota, so when he decides to call him, it’ll give him a decent head start.

He’s supposed to keep Dean safe. Do everything that Dean did for him as a child, but better, stronger, because he’s knocked his brother up, made him heavy with his children, swollen and nauseous. He laughs, and it comes out as a sob, and he presses bruised knuckles to his open mouth.

This was supposed to be easier. He distinctly recalls that doing the right thing is supposed to be innate.

John axiom.

_Shoulders up, Sammy. Up. Can’t hit anything if you’re cowering from it_

Sam’s hands fall to his side, knuckles slap against the night-dark wood of the armchair.

Sam’s been selfish, a lot of his life. He’s had time to reflect on it, thought about it as he’s had the scent of burning curls and ash in his lungs, thought about it as he imagined Dean’s body writhing underneath him, pressing slick-damp fingers into his brother, punishing him with his come.

He’s spent all of his life, wanting.

Sam doesn’t know how to not want, how to stop clawing for everything he desires, the things he’s owed. He never fought for Dean. He wouldn’t let Dean become that for him, a prize to be sought, and coveted. Dean would’ve given of himself too freely.

He can’t keep everything. It’s not the Winchester way to be whole.

He stands up, bones snapping in the otherwise stagnant air, youth and ache blending in a cocktail of degeneration.

Lilith wants him dead. She won’t stop until it’s so, and if that means killing everyone in her path to get to him, so be it.

He’s mulled over the options, but there’s only one, and really, isn’t that the way it’s always been?

Sam crosses over to Dean, big hand hovering over his brother’s face, sleep-slack, small twitches denoting life. He can see Dean’s stomach ripple, can see the soft indentation of a foot, pressing against skin as it settles. Dean’s hand moves of its own accord, bearing down against the taut flesh of his belly, smattering of golden dust on his skin.

Just a touch, one, because he can’t imagine leaving without saying goodbye because there’s Dean and Pax and Dec, and they’re his, they’ve always belonged to him, they’ll be his when he’s dead and gone and he’ll still be there to claim.

He’s not being selfish, not anymore. He shoves his hand deep into his pockets, fingers scraping against the keys within. He fishes them out, nostalgic glance as he sets them on the bedside table. He can’t take the Impala.

Dean doesn’t remember his permanent home, but he’s lived on leather and gun oil, and it means more to his brother than he’ll ever verbalize.

Sam takes four steps back, Alpha’s not moving, but it’s because he knows, he knows that he has to leave, it’s what is the safest choice for the pack, for his family, but Alpha needs Dean just as much, needs to growl and protect, allow Dean to nest and cradle his pups.

Alpha would touch. And Sam can’t allow him the opportunity.

Sam fumbles with his phone, almost drops it twice in his fear, dials Bobby quickly before he can forget, slink next to Dean like an injured puppy, beg forgiveness and absolution, sky on the edge of a storm.

“Sam. Sam!” Sounds like Bobby’s talking through a wind tunnel, and Sam can feel the blood rushing through his head as he answers, moves fluidly away from the bed and opens the door of the room, sticking his body just outside of it, enough to see Dean but not so close as to disturb him.

“It’s three in the morning, boy, this had better be damn important!”

Sam chuckles, swipes at his face. “It is, Bobby.” He doesn’t pause, there’s no subtle way to broach this topic, and he needs to move, needs to spur his wolf into action so there’s no time to think, no opening to think about revising his actions.

“I need you to come and get Dean.” There’s a gust of wind outside of the motel room door, and Sam idly follows the patterns the discarded leaves take as they float in mid-air.

“Sam, what’s wrong boy? What kind of trouble you two got yourselves in this time?” Sam clears his throat. “I don’t have time, Bobby. I need to know if you’re coming. We’re in Rapid City, and Dean’s asleep.”

He can hear Bobby moving, clunk of furniture and limbs, muttered curses in the dark. “F’course I’m coming you idjit, what I’m askin’ you is why?” Sam smiles, and it hurts his mouth, muscle memory. “There are some--pretty high level monsters after me, Bobby. I’ve made my deals and now I gotta lie with ‘em.” He scratches at the back of his neck. “They’re gonna come after Dean, to get to me.”

Bobby curses, foul threat, and Sam speeds ahead, can’t afford the time he’s spending. “See, funny thing is, they’re not gonna stop.” He says. “I don’t plan on it either. I’m gonna kill those sons of bitches, but I need Dean far away from me while I do it.” Bobby doesn’t speak, but Sam knows he’s listening, can hear it in the labored cadence of his breath.

“He’ll try to come along, if I tell him.” Bobby snorts. “Course that boy will. He ain’t let you outta his sight since you were born Sam, he can’t think any differently.” Sam’s heart swells with that, the knowledge he already owns, and fuck, he can’t break.

“I fucking know that Bobby, you think I don’t? But I’ve got pups now, and I’ve gotta protect him cause he won’t do it himself.” Sam’s voice is wet desperation, and his fingers are digging into thighs, and he’s rocking back and forth, heel toe, heel toe.

He knows Bobby, knows the hunter is nodding, hand scraping over dozen weeks worth of stubble.

He hears the click of an open door, and if he strains, he thinks he can make out the distinct crunch of gravel against boot. He’s proven right when he hears a car door thunk closed, and then Bobby’s voice, low and pained, knife wound in his back.

“You gotta call him, Sam.”

Sam’s moving now, phone tucked against his shoulder, hair flopping into his mouth with every other breath. He never unpacked his duffle and he grabs it now, makes sure Dean’s is within easy reach when he wakes. Dean’s been sleeping most nights through, and Bobby should be here around when he’s just starting to rise. He’ll be too disoriented to realize Sam’s not there. At first.

“I can’t talk to him Bobby. Not right away. He’ll want me to come back, fuck he’ll try to drive and find me. He can’t drive, Bobby, you know he can’t, he’ll hotwire a car, or, or a fucking truck and he’ll drive to wherever I am. And he’ll be sick, he won’t eat, Bobby, he can’t eat when he’s stressed and don’t let him fucking eat cherries all day man, they’ll make him vomit. And you gotta make him move around some, or else he’ll lay there. He’ll do it all day, when he’s not thinking of ways to sneak out and come after me. You gotta _remind_ him, Bobby--”

He hears Bobby’s sharp whistle, knows the man huffed air through his fingers directly through the phone, and Sam is grateful, because now that he’s started he can’t stop. He’s still rambling in his head, broken record, stuck on Sanitarium, can hear Dean’s low voice screaming it, loudly in Sam’s ear, wants to see him flinch

_leave me BE_

_Stop it, Dean, you’re not fucking helping_

And Bobby’s talking, saying something, and Sam quits moving for a second so he can take it in. “Sammy? Sam, I’ll tell him, boy. But you gotta call him, soon. Real soon. Soon as you can, Sam. He ain’t gonna...he ain’t gonna be doing too well.”

Sam grunts, barely trusts himself with words.

“I know. I know, and I will. I just wanna be long gone first. And Bobby,” he says, voice brittle, importance lacing his words. “Remind him about the pups. I can do this cause I know he won’t let anything happen to them.” Sam chokes out another laugh-sob and it’s such a mutant, so far away from the thing it was meant to become.

“He’ll stay alive cause he can’t die without killing them, too.” Bobby’s driving, Sam can hear the wind whipping around the interior of the car, and Sam adjusts the Devil’s Trap on the ceiling, shirt riding up against his waist as he reaches up, checks to see if any hastily drawn lines are broken.

“I’m leaving the place locked up tight.” He offers Bobby the room number, leans down and snags the handles of his duffles, grasps it with two fingers, absurdly light. “I’ll call you, Bobby. Just, hurry, alright? I’m not good at leaving him alone.”

Bobby grunts on the other end. “Wouldn’t be no kind of Alpha if you were.”

Sam snaps the phone closed, shoves it into his back pocket. He bows his head against the doorway, wills himself not to turn around and look at his brother. That’s a lost cause before it began, and he figures he’d better provide Alpha with a little comfort, because he’s not gonna have anymore to give pretty soon.

His eyes roam across the room, land on the stationary in the center of the desk, white with red lettering. He strides over to it, snatches off a sheet and tries to smooth down the rip he’s made in the paper. There’s a pen nearby so he grabs that too, uncaps it with his teeth and presses two digits against the white, striving to keep it motionless, but it’s trembling, regardless.

_Dean._

_Once, when I was fifteen, I almost drowned. We were in California, man, you remember? Dad hated it there, so we never went very often. Sacramento River. You and Dad, told me not to go out. Dad was hunting that coven of witches, remember, Dean, called ‘em pot smoking satanists? Fuck, we laughed so hard at that. You told me you probably had VIP access to the back entrance of Hell, with how much you were smoking back then. But it was hot, Dean, fucking 99 out, and you weren’t home._

_Been swimming since I was six, Dad threw me in and you dragged me right back out. Remember that? Fuck, I thought I was gonna die. Anyway, found out later it was seaweed, cause it grows in that river, but shit, something like cold hands grabbed my ankle and all I could think was, I’m gonna die here. Shit, this isn’t even a good hunt to die on. And I wasn’t enrolled in school yet so no one was around, and I screamed your name, fucking water in my lungs, til I went under all the way._

_Couldn’t untangle it fast enough, had to take a fucking huge gulp of water, tasted like fish man, like dirty feet. When I told you about it, when you came back and I was still coughing up water? You remember what you said to me? Jesus, you were pissed. Thought you were gonna finish the job. I told you I was angry, cause you weren’t there. Supposed to have my back. You told me you’d always have my back. You said, the problem was, one day, I wouldn’t want you to have it anymore. You said I wouldn’t need it._

_This isn’t the time. Don’t do anything fucking stupid, Dean. Tell Paxton and Declan I love them, alright? I’ll call you._

Sam folds the letter once, places it on the pillow that should’ve been his. He’s pretty decent with words, got high marks on all his British Lit essays at Stanford, but he’s never been good at speaking Dean, and he doesn’t think he’s become miraculously proficient at it now. It’s not enough, won’t ever be enough, and Dean might never forgive him.

Of course, he’ll be alive to hang on to his long-standing grudge, and the thought makes Sam grin in sharp relief. Alpha is heeling, forcing himself to endure, because the urge to physically connect is so strong, Sam can feel the shift simmering deep in his limbs. His marrow aches with it, the re-alignment, the shatterpoint.

At some point, Sam is going to have to stop hot-wiring cars. Ruby’s in Black Hills, which means he’s got an hour drive ahead of him. He knows Mount Rushmore is nearby, wonders idly if that’s something Dean would want to take the boys to see one day, and he lets out a growl that shakes the frame of the Hyundai he’s traveling in.

He’ll remember, next time. That’s a weak spot, and he has no other option than to train himself out of it. He grimaces. He can’t imagine that will be anything less than agony.

Sam’s an hour away from Dean when he finally pulls into the driveway of the small yellow house, and he smirks at the light show within. Looks like a family dinner, and he can see shadows moving, one short and the other only slightly taller. Sam doesn’t take it for granted that he knows who inhabits the place, and pulls the knife from out of the back of his pants, angles it down and away, just in case.

He raps on the door smartly, one knuckle and is less than pleased when Ruby opens, teeth gleaming in the shadows of the low lamplight.

“Are you alone?” Sam nods, curtly, squeezes the age-worn handle of the blade, dull click of pulse. “Fuck, I didn’t think you’d have the balls to do it. You left him?” Sam’s free hand is rising of it’s own volition, and all that Sam is aware of is the golden haze that usually heralds a shift, and the snap of his own bones as they arch and splinter under his skin.

His right hand connects with the left side of her face and ricochets off, her head clipping the edge of the doorframe and bouncing backwards. Sam can hear the pop in her neck as her head attempts to settle, and he allows his incisors to clip his own lower lip, can feel the blood slither down his chin.

Ruby doesn’t even have a hand to her face, and her eyes are large, blinking rapidly with pain-triggered tears. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’d knocked a few teeth loose with the impact. She makes a low hum of anguish, and then she shudder-gasps, turning away from him.

He can see Crowley, who, he realizes, has been hovering in the background during the entire exchange. His gaze is placid, but for one arched eyebrow, and he eyes Ruby with a blank stare, as she’s hunched over, facing away from Sam, dry tears harassing her body.

“Coming in hot, Winchester?” Crowley removes his hands from his pockets, odd-looking without his trademark, floor-length overcoat.

“I take it our dear friend Ruby said something...out of pocket.” Sam’s incisors retreat and he wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, scrubbing the blood away on his jeans.

“We have a deal. I don’t go back on my word. But, we need to clear a few things up.”

Crowley inclines his head, brown eyes dancing. “Please.”

“We don’t mention him. Unless he’s in some danger, don’t say his name. I won’t be responsible for what I do then, and I won’t give a damn afterwards, either.” Sam enters the house fully, steps around Ruby to face Crowley.

“Secondly. You want Lilith dead.” He pauses, can feel Alpha settle deep in his chest, tangled steel cage shorn to bits, shuddering in place, safety off.

“And you wanted a monster. If you’re lucky, I’ll give you the first.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay darlings, this is the last installment for this series. We've reached a natural turning point in this 'verse, and we are headed into what I like to call, Part Two.
> 
> This is a horrible cliffhanger, but if you would like to read what's next, I would love to post that. (That'll be in fic form, not a series.)
> 
> I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter (and whether or not you're remotely interested in a continuation).


End file.
